Shotgun Messiah
by Argent Gale
Summary: Daryl Dixon is one of the best hired killers there is. Ed hires him to get rid of Carol. One problem. Mr. Dixon falls head over heels for the quiet, silver-haired woman and realizes he may not be the monster he thinks he is.


Daryl Dixon didn't look like a killer. His sandy blonde locks were forever in a messy tangle. His piercing blue eyes possessed depth and a quiet intelligence. His easygoing demeanor was more suited to that of a surfer, artist or perhaps even a writer. He was a quiet and unassuming man. His smile, when he offered one, was tentative. Sweet. The shy smile of a man not quite sure of himself perhaps. Seeking acceptance.

The serenity was a facade. A careful illusion to blend in and not raise suspicions. Put you at ease and make you drop your guard.

His name was whispered. His very existence was almost mythical, like Big Foot or perhaps the Chupacabra. He was a master at his craft. Efficient. Calculating. Professional. He didn't question or judge. If there was a problem to be fixed or a mistake to be erased he was your man. You didn't find him. If he wanted the job, he found you. If you wanted a problem solved, friends of friends of associates who knew a guy would see what they could do. He was the best of the best at what he did. And what Daryl Dixon did was kill.

He made problems disappear. It would just cost you.

Many times when he was sitting alone, perhaps doing some recon for a job or waiting on a client, he would wonder how he ended up where he was. You didn't just wake up one day and decide to kill for a living. It was something he just fell into thanks to circumstances way beyond his control. Wasn't much opportunity in the town where he grew up. Didn't do that great in school when he decided to show up for it. When Merle approached him about helping out on one of his jobs, Daryl almost felt flattered. Happy to be acknowledged and included.

Sometimes his mind wandered to his first "job". Hell, the kid wasn't much older than he was. Some dumbass punk who got a little cocky and fucked with the wrong person. Daryl remembered it was an unseasonably cold day in November, Thanksgiving mere days away. The sky was flat and gray. The wind tugged at his hair and stung his ears.

He remembered repeating the carefully scripted lines Merle had given him. The kid went along willingly, not realizing until the very last second of his life that something was woefully amiss.

The crack of the gunshot was a sharp bark that rolled out over the field, causing two doe to raise their heads in alarm and take off, with their white tails flagging in warning.

After the deed was done Daryl fell to his knees gagging and then finally retching the contents of his lunch onto the frozen earth as the corpse lay twitching and jerking beside him, blood pooling and steaming on the hard ground in the crisp autumn air.

Oh yeah, that first job was a doozy. That kid was the first in a long line. It got easier as time went on and eventually he began to enjoy his little talent for making people disappear. Now he relished the challenge. The tang of blood, burnt flesh, and gunpowder the markers of a job finished. His knack escaping undetected the marker of a job well done.

And so here he was now, sitting in a booth of a café he didn't even bother catching the name of in the town of Tyrone, a quiet blink-and-you-miss-it town outside of Atlanta, meeting with a client who apparently wanted his wife gone.

Daryl regarded the sack of shit seated in front of him. "Ed". He looked like an Ed. Paunchy and pasty. Greasy and shifty. Brow shining with sweat, his eyes darting back and forth nervously. He looked like a stereotypical used car salesman. If the bastard didn't stop fidgeting and drumming his fingers on the table, Daryl was going to shoot him right between the eyes here in this quaint little café.

Why Merle sent this winner his way Daryl could only guess. Probably just to be a dick. Merle would do that once in a while. Keep his lil baby brother on his toes. Merle would send along a shit job, then offer up a juicer assignment as a "reward."

Daryl said nothing. He kept his face blank and noncommittal. All business. He always waited. He always let the customer do all of the talking. He never said anything to offer reassurance that the client was making the right choice, soothe their conscience. He wasn't a counselor. That wasn't why he was here. Obviously he never said anything that could be considered incriminating. He let the client lay out, and say, exactly what it was they wanted Daryl to do.

Ed shifted in his seat, making the chair creak in complaint. He gave a nervous cough.

_Get to it you stupid fuck. I don't have all day. _

Daryl took a sip of coffee to focus and to keep from completely snapping out. Not even five minutes and Ed was grating on his nerves.

"I, uh, heard you could maybe help me out with a problem. Somebody, uh, they gave me your name and said you could mebbe take care of something for me." Ed's voice was a hoarse whisper. His breath was atrocious.

Daryl carefully placed his coffee cup back down on the saucer. "Perhaps. Depends on what you want."

Ed squirmed a bit more, nervously glancing around the nearly empty restaurant before fishing a picture out of his coat pocket. He slid the photo toward Daryl. "Her."

Daryl maneuvered the photo so he could get a better look. Upon getting a clear view of the target he pursed his lips.

"A woman huh?"

Ed only nodded.

Daryl picked up the photo to get a better look. While he didn't exactly relish it when the job involved a woman it wouldn't stop him from doing the job. Most definitely men made up the bulk of his work but there had been a few women sprinkled in. Former lovers that got too pushy. Wives that got maybe a bit too greedy for their own good.

His eyes flickered from the photo to Ed, "Girlfriend? Lover? Wife?"

Ed's flinty eyes darkened, "That's my…wife. Carol. I want her gone. Don't care how. She, ah, she needs to go. Sooner than later. She's been a boil on my ass for long enough."

Daryl studied the picture carefully. The woman staring back at him was attractive enough. She had an almost elfin face capped with wispy silver curls. Her fair skin glowed as if she were lit from within. In the photo she was smiling but the smile was forced and didn't reach her eyes. If not for that he would have thought she was a model. Her eyes had a hollow look to them. Haunted almost.

What was she doing with a toad like this Ed? Not that it was any of his concern.

Daryl's attention was then drawn to a girl of about 9 or 10 in Carol's arms. Carol's hug seemed almost protective. Shielding. Not the usual warm, relaxed hug of a mother with her child. It immediately struck Daryl as odd but he filed the thought away for later.

Daryl pointed to the child, "That your kid?" Kids complicated things.

Most fathers at least gave a smile when their offspring were mentioned. Ed only gave a curt nod and a sour grimace. "Yeah. She's mine. Speaking of which it would be nice if you get this business taken care of before she starts school. That way I can send her to live with my mom without having to deal with the bullshit of having to pull her out of school, changing schools. All that shit."

Cold little bastard thought of everything. Daryl could pick up the tinge desperation in Ed's voice.

"You don't have a problem…dealing with…killing a woman do you? I mean, a job is a job, right? This is just a job for you, right? "

Daryl sat the photo down and tented his fingers, leveling his gaze at Ed. He smiled thinly. "Yes. A job is a job. Really doesn't matter to me if it is a woman or a man. I do draw the line at kids. I'm not that fucked up." Daryl paused to take a swallow of his coffee.

"Alright, I'm going to set down some guidelines so we can keep this process as smooth and bullshit free as possible. First and foremost, you don't know me. You never saw me. I want it clear that if we pass on the street you don't even look my way. After we part ways here in this cozy little restaurant, we won't talk again until I give you the call that the project is nearing completion and to get your alibi together. Understood?"

Daryl continued on, voice low and level. "Next I don't want you badgering me. I work on my own schedule. Things happen in their own time. Might be two weeks. Might be a month. Straight forward job like this probably a month tops. Like I said, I'll give you a heads up on when you need to be seen out in public with a few witnesses so you have a solid alibi. After it's over, I'll let you know when the job is complete and where we meet to complete the transaction and go our merry little way. Got it?"

Ed nodded.

Daryl fished in his pocket and produced a pen. "Here, write your number down." Ed swallowed hard and nodded. "Yeah. Sure." Grabbing a napkin he did as he was told and pushed the paper back to Daryl.

"Good. Now, to do what I need to do with maximum efficiency I need every scrap of information you can give me, no matter how insignificant it may seem to you. Her habits. Where she works. Her friends. Routine. Anything you can give me will help things move…smoothly."

Ed shrugged. "That's easy. She works at a little bookstore in town. Buy the Book it's called. Umm….she doesn't socialize much. Really doesn't have any friends that I know of. She keeps to herself. She drops Sophia off at the neighbor's in the morning before work. Gets her when her shift ends. Comes straight home unless she has to shop or somethin'. "

Daryl nodded. A bookstore? Interesting. Books were Daryl's secret passion. He loved to read. He read anything and everything. His love affair with them began when he was a boy, squirreling books under his bed, sneaking off into the woods to read for hours. Books took him away for a little while. Books were Daryl's friends, lovers, and saviors.

Of course Merle beat the shit out of him when he caught him reading. Called him a pansy for reading "like a sniveling girl." His father mocked him as well. This didn't stop Daryl. He just learned to conceal his passion a bit better.

Later on in life books helped him hone his craft. Helping him learn human anatomy for cleaner, quicker kills. Butchering techniques for faster, more efficient, disposal. The best ways to clean stubborn blood stains. Old apothecary books filled with formulas for when discretion and finesse were preferable over brute force.

Daryl smiled, "Well, I'll need that address for the bookstore then."

He felt that familiar tingle in his stomach. Let the hunt begin.


End file.
